by Jean Wilde
“The Late Lord Hastings was concerned with your, um…sexual preferences. Not about the possibility of scandal, you’d been very discreet in your affairs. He was more concerned that his heir would never marry and that the family name would die with you. So, he asked me if you’d ever spoken fondly of a woman, preferably one of good breeding and of child-bearing age. Luckily for him, I knew just the lady for the job.”
Miller flashed a grin at Caroline, and she uttered a choked sound of disbelief. “You named me?”
The man had the audacity to wink at her. “Yes, Hastings had spoken about you more than once when we were together, and I knew that yours was the only female company he sought. The old Baron liked my recommendation and wanted to make sure that the two of you were caught in a compromising position—thus ensuring that his son would wed.”
Horatio grimaced as if he were in pain, and Caroline’s heart squeezed in sympathy. His father’s betrayal cut deep, and while she was sure her father-in-law had had his son’s best intentions at heart, the way he’d gone about it was deceitful and hurtful.
It was several minutes before Horatio finally spoke, “That certainly wasn’t easy to hear, even if it did all take place six years ago. While much of what you did is unforgivable: breaking my trust, blackmailing myself then my father, and theft…I do appreciate you telling me this now. You have my thanks.”
Caroline’s heart swelled with affection and admiration. Her husband truly was a paragon of goodness and virtue. She rounded the desk to lay a comforting hand on his shoulder. Silently communicating both her support and just how proud she was of him. He squeezed her hand without looking up at her.
Miller shifted uncomfortably, clearly not expecting Horatio’s kind words. “That’s generous of you to say, but that’s not all, I’m afraid. You may recall that your father had written statements attesting that I stole a valuable object from this house. When I did my part in the library and your betrothal was announced, he assured me he wouldn’t take any action against me. In fact, he paid me a decent sum to keep silent on the matter, and he found me a job at his friend’s shipyard.”
Horatio laughed humorously. “That explains it. I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why he’d done that.”
“He was a good man,” Miller stated somberly. “Your mother, however, I cannot say the same about. Just over six months ago—shortly after your father’s funeral—she came to see me. She’d found those testimonies implicating me in theft. Luckily, she thought her husband merely kept the statements as collateral without ever using them against me. The Dowager, however, had no qualms blackmailing me into doing her bidding.”
Caroline sighed in resignation, not entirely surprised. She could feel Horatio go rigid beneath her hand, however.
“And what did she want your help with?” he asked, anger echoing clearly in his words.
Miller stood up and clasped his hands behind his back as he studied them both across the desk. “Nothing at first. Then, a few months ago, I received a letter from her instructing me to find out everything I could about the new architect at Delaval Hall.”
Horatio rose from his chair, planting his hands flat on the desk. “And?”
The former footman shrugged. “I couldn’t find out anything about him, really. Other than the obvious of course: he was from London, well-bred, unwed, and not particularly skilled at his job. The fact that he was also charming and handsome did catch her interest, though.”
Caroline’s hand dropped from Horatio’s shoulder as she understood in an instant what wickedness her mother-in-law had had in store for her. “She planned to accuse me of adultery, didn’t she?”
Her husband turned to look at her incredulously, “What?”
Miller nodded. “Yes. I won’t go into the details of that scheme. Suffice to say that Lady Mayfield was also involved in this plan. They both hoped that the scandal would break up your marriage. And when the time came for Baron Hastings to remarry, only a daughter of Lady Mayfield’s would be an acceptable choice. When Piers Benson learned of this scheme, he did the only thing he could—he removed himself entirely from Newcastle before any scandal could touch either of you.”
Caroline felt dizzy by the onslaught of conflicting emotions. Hurt, anger, betrayal, but also gratitude. The rush of affection and appreciation she felt toward Piers—who’d chosen to walk away to spare her and Horatio the pain of the truth—was overwhelming.
“I think I need to sit down,” she said softly.
Horatio led her to a couch and pulled her down next to him. “Shall I fetch your maid?” he asked, concerned.
She shook her head as tears began to streak down her face.
Miller cursed under his breath. “I’m sorry, my Lady. I just…I had to tell you. It was the right thing to do. Besides, I owed Benson! He had the Dowager mail those damning testimonies to me, so I could be sure to destroy them myself. He single handedly foiled the scheme she and Lady Mayfield had concocted. You deserve to know the truth about him; he’s a good man.”
Horatio stared at him for a moment then said, “And is there anything you hope to achieve by sharing this information? Are you trying to gain favor with me?”
“I believe I’ve said enough for one day,” Miller replied, retreating toward the doorway. “If you need to reach me, you know where to find me.” He gave a shallow bow and left the room, shutting the door behind him.
Silence reigned, broken only by the sound of Caroline’s hiccupping sobs. When she was finally able to compose herself, she took a deep breath and said, “Well, that certainly explains a few things.”
Horatio let out a bark of laughter. “An understatement if I’ve ever heard one. I don’t know who I want to throttle more: my mother or father…or Piers for leaving without telling us the truth.”
“You know why he did.”
He let out a weary sigh. “Yes, I do. Do you think he…misses us?”
She shrugged. “My mind is a mess, I don’t know what to think right now. But there is one thing I know for certain: we are not done with Piers Benson.”
Chapter 21
The Scarlet Salon, London
Piers sat languidly on the chaise in Madam Sophie’s study as he and his employer waited for his guest to arrive. She was already a half hour late, and Madam pursed her lips in displeasure. “Are you quite sure she’s coming?” she asked impatiently.
“If my good friend the Countess of Digby says she’s coming, then I can assure you she is,” he replied unflappably.
“She is with child, you know,” Madam Sophie snapped. “I doubt that husband of hers wants either her or their unborn child anywhere near this salon. Just tell me what you wish to talk about, and then you can go pay a call on her in Mayfair.”
“Have you never heard the saying that ‘patience is a virtue,’ Madam?”
“Not when my line of business relies on immediate gratification.”
“Touché!”
Luckily, there was a knock on the door shortly after, and Isabelle Gilbert glided gracefully into the room. Madam Sophie jumped to her feet and moved quickly to give her a warm hug. Piers sat stunned for a moment as he took in his friend’s large protruding belly, which her attractive yellow gown did little to hide. Grinning, he rose and gave her an affectionate peck on the cheek. “Look at you! I see Digby has wasted no time securing the family line.”
Isabelle chuckled. “Well, there was certainly no lack of trying on his part. You’re back in town early. Was your trip up north successful?”
He winked at her. “Do you really have to ask?”
“No, I have the utmost confidence in your skills and discretion, which is why I referred you to the Baroness.”
“Do sit down, both of you,” Madam instructed, shooting him an admonishing look. “Really, Piers, have I taught you nothing about putting a woman’s comfort first?”
He shook his head and remained standing while Isabelle took a seat next to the brothel owner. “Don’t coddle her. She needs to stand and move around. Not
hing is worse for a woman’s constitution than sitting demurely like a pretty painting all day.”
Isabelle considered him for a moment. “You know, I think you’re right. Now, tell me why you’re risking my husband’s wrath by asking me to come here.”
“Yes,” Madam interjected, “don’t keep us in suspense any longer.”
Piers regarded both women then took a deep breath. “I had an epiphany during my stay in Northumberland. I’ve come to a decision, and I wanted to inform you both of it at the same time rather than taking on the cumbersome task of repeating myself. Sophie,” he began, turning to look at the brothel owner, “I’m done working at The Scarlet Salon. I’ve paid back everything I owe you, and while this place has been my home for the past fourteen years, I believe it’s time for me to move on.”
It was with no small satisfaction that he was able to announce his departure from the Salon. The Dowager Lady Hastings had kept her end of the bargain and had paid a hefty sum in exchange for his silence. He’d settled all his outstanding debts with Madam, set some funds aside, and sent the rest to the Hastings’s bank in London. He wanted nothing between him and the Hastings except friendship and pleasant memories—he certainly didn’t want Caroline’s money.
Madam Sophie raised a perfectly shaped blonde brow. “Are you quite certain? Few professions in London will pay you as well as I do.”
His lips twitched. “Are you concerned about my loss of income or yours?”
Isabelle chuckled. “I’m quite sure she’s thinking about both. Don’t fret, Sophie; there’s still Robert, and London is teeming with desperate souls eager to make a living.”
Madam sighed. “Yes, but it’s so hard to find one that’s high-born. Fallen ladies of society are easy enough to come by, but gentlemen… it will be a challenge.”
“I suppose it’s flattering to know that I’m not so easy to replace.”
“Piers,” Isabelle interrupted. “While you have my full support in leaving the Salon, what am I doing here?”
“As it happens, I was able to pick up some useful skills during my visit to the North—and no, it does not involve me being on top of or below anyone,” he added with a wry smile.
“Oh? And what skills are these?” Madam asked, looking mildly intrigued.
Piers looked at Isabelle when he spoke next. “Interior decorating. I seem to have a knack for envisioning space and possess an excellent taste in color and furnishings. I doubt I’ll ever be able to master the art of sketching or the technique needed for drawings. But I can plan restorations, design and redecorate rooms according to the latest fashion, and discern the best building materials to use. I know—with the proper training—I can make a decent living from such an endeavor. What I need is to be placed under the guiding hand of an experienced professional.”
Both women stared silently at him for a long time. Then Isabelle grinned and said, “I think that’s a splendid idea. I suppose you need an introduction to secure an apprenticeship with one of London’s top designers?”
“You suppose correctly, Countess.”
She nodded slowly. “I have an acquaintance who’s a personal friend of Mr. Thomas Hope. Have you heard of him?”
“Everyone has heard of him,” Madam stated impatiently. “He comes from that fabulously rich Dutch family—the ones who made their fortune in banking.”
Isabelle rolled her eyes. “Of course his wealth is what you’d be most concerned with, Sophie. He’s a patron of the arts and has even opened his house to the public to showcase his extensive collection. More importantly, however, he is the author of Household Furniture and Interior Decoration, and is the most influential and sought-after designer in London.”
“Yes,” the brothel owner conceded with a careless wave of her hand. “I’m sure he’s famous for all that as well.”
Piers chuckled. “Then I’ll be most obliged to you, my Lady, if you can arrange an interview with this most esteemed decorator.”
Madam Sophie snorted. “Yes, I’m sure you’ll dazzle and flatter him into taking you on. Perhaps you’ll even publish your own book someday: The Designs of a Courtesan.”
“Now that would be an excellent title; one that I would definitely read,” his friend replied loyally.
“I’ll be sure to send you a signed copy once it’s in print,” Piers said with a smirk. “Come, Sophie, be happy for me. Who knows, perhaps one day soon, you’ll be paying me for my exclusive services instead of profiting from them!”
* * * *
It only took the Countess of Digby three days to arrange a meeting with London’s most famous designer. Mr. Thomas Hope was not what Piers had been expecting. He was a short unattractive man, unsusceptible to flattery, and direct to a fault. But Piers had a gift for dealing with irritable people and coaxing them into a better mood. Once he’d taken stock of the older gentleman, he stopped trying to charm him and launched into a discussion about the unique architecture of Delaval Hall and the building restoration he’d worked on. That conversation quickly piqued Mr. Hope’s interest. He’d studied architecture in his youth and had a fondness for Greek and Roman style buildings. Several hours later, Piers stepped out onto Duchess Street no longer an unemployed courtesan but a decorator’s protégé. The first thing he did was stop at a bookstore and purchase a copy of Household Furniture and Interior Decoration.
* * * *
Piers quickly learned that Mr. Hope’s infamy for being unpleasant to work with was, in fact, well-founded. But the man was a true visionary and a brilliant artist. During his first few weeks on the job, Piers didn’t do much other than observe and run around the city meeting with tradesmen and merchants. He quickly ingratiated himself with the designer’s other pupils, many of whom were artists and sculptors who’d gained his patronage. He’d heard of several former students who had gone on to become leading figures in the British and European art world. It was surprisingly easy for Piers to find his place amongst his more talented peers, and he focused on nurturing the few skills he did have. Decorating the interiors of homes of the wealthy upper class was the clear path for him. He’d been born and educated as a gentleman, he knew how members of the ton thought, what impressed them, what motivated them, and most importantly, how to charm them.
As fascinating as his apprenticeship was, Piers found himself on the brink of slipping back into debt. He barely made any money at the beginning of his new career and quickly went through his meager savings. It was shocking to learn just how expensive mundane things such as food and lodging were. That was in addition to the enormous cost of keeping a horse in London. Maintaining Titus was putting a severe dent in his purse. Then there was the added expense of traveling to meet prospective clients and purchasing design plates.
And that was how Piers found himself still residing at The Scarlet Salon almost eight months after quitting the brothel business. He’d looked at several lodgings, but with his limited funds, nothing he’d seen could match the sophistication and cleanliness he’d grown accustomed to at the Salon. In spite of his desperation, Piers was determined not to go back to whoring. So, he struck a bargain with Madam Sophie. She allowed him to stay in his old room for free, provided meals, and stabled Titus. In return, he dedicated several hours a week to instructing the new courtesans she’d hired in the art of seduction. While they were all beautiful, they were not particularly skilled at pleasing men. Since Piers loved women, he had no qualms about placing his body at their disposal. He was infinitely patient with them, and in the weeks he tutored them, they quickly became the most popular girls at the Salon.
Of all the recent changes in his life, however, the one that made him happiest was his now regular correspondence with his youngest sister, Elizabeth. She’d been the only member of his family to respond to the missive he’d posted while he was still in Northumberland. It seemed that she’d come across his letter by chance as she was riffling through their father’s desk during one of her visits. Initially, he’d been disappointed to learn that his letter
had been confined to the bottom of a drawer to be forgotten. Then, upon reflection, he’d realized that his father had actually kept his letter and hadn’t burned or destroyed it. His sister’s response had been a pleasant surprise since she’d been only five years old when he’d left home. She’d written a long letter, sharing details about her married life in Kent, her husband and children—two nephews that he hadn’t even known existed. She’d talked briefly about his siblings, and while they’d refused to acknowledge his existence, he’d been relieved to learn they were all healthy and content with their lives.
As busy as he was, Piers felt desperately lonely. He spent most of his waking hours either carving a place for himself in the world of elite decorators or tutoring novice courtesans, but at night his bed was empty and uninviting. He missed Caroline and Horatio with a ferocity he hadn’t been expecting. He thought about them as he went about his daily business. What would Caroline think about this shade of yellow Mrs. Brown insisted on using for her new parlor? How would Horatio deal with the silk merchant who kept trying to charge him double for everything?
Caroline must have had the baby by now, he mused, not for the first time. He wondered if she’d had a boy or girl. Did Hori end up finding a new reliable steward? Was Mr. Hill able to finish all the repairs in time? Sighing, he berated himself yet again for wanting things he couldn’t have. He needed to focus on his future in London and not obsess over the glimpse of happiness he’d experienced in Newcastle.
When it had been almost a year since he’d last seen them, Piers decided it was enough. Good memories were all fine and dandy, but he needed to move on with his life. So, while it pained him to do so, he ruthlessly set aside all thoughts of the Hastings whenever they haunted him. He refused to give in to the urge to write them or to ask Isabelle if she’d received word from them. And if he dreamed of one or both of them at night…well, that’s all it was. A dream!
Chapter 22
After a particularly grueling day of work, where Piers spent almost an hour negotiating the price of silk curtains in Spitalfields, he returned to the Salon utterly spent. He handed Titus off to a stable boy and grabbed a mince pie from the kitchen before heading upstairs. When he was halfway up the staircase, Whitson called after him, “You have a visitor, Mr. Benson. Shall I send him up to your room?”
